Out of Spite, Out of Mind

by Scott Meyer

  Martin took it. “Thanks! That’s great! I’ll put it on later, when I’m not standing in wet concrete.”

  Tyler appeared, far enough to the side that one of his feet was over the pit. His left foot touched down on the upper level while the right half of his body kept falling, finally stopping when his right foot hit the bottom of the pit. Normally, he’d have hopped to the side to regain his balance, but the wet concrete prevented this. Instead, he fell over sideways, twisting on the way down and landing flat on his back, as if he intended to make a concrete angel.

  He seemed poised to unleash a torrent of profanities, but Gwen smiled down at him and greeted him with a cheerful, “Hi, Tyler. Looks like Gary saw us coming this time.” She extended a hand to help him up.

  “Yeah” Tyler said, taking her hand. “Looks like it, I guess. Gwen, good to see you. You seem . . . good.”

  “Yeah.”

  As he came to his feet, Tyler looked at Martin, who held up his new robe, still folded, for Tyler to see. “She made me a new robe.”

  “Oh. Nice. So you two have made up.”

  Martin smiled. “I guess?”

  Gwen said, “We’ll talk about it.”

  Martin’s smile dimmed.

  Roy and Jeff appeared at the same moment. Jeff materialized in the empty space over the sunken area and immediately fell in. Roy appeared on the higher portion of floor, and sunk into the concrete slowly, while cursing.

  Martin said, “I hope you’re satisfied, Gary.”

  “I am. I really, really am. It makes me wish I’d done this on purpose. I’m just having the floors redone. That hole you’re all wallowing in is going to be my new conversation pit.” Gary shouted, “Foreman!”

  Banging, creaking, and sounds of human exertion became audible as one of the doors down at the end of the hall opened. Hubert leaned out of the door, wearing a hard hat and waders with his tuxedo coat. “Yes, Master?”

  “I’m afraid my idiot friends have messed up the floors in here. You and the boys will have to come refloat it and the conversation pit.”

  “I see what you mean, Master. We’re on the way.”

  The wizards all levitated into the air and gravitated to the outer edge of the room as thirteen dirty, undernourished young men in hard hats, rubber boots, and matching black T-shirts printed with an illustration of a tuxedo jacket, white shirt, and bow tie flooded out of the hallway and into the main room, their feet caked with wet concrete. They used flat boards and planks of wood to smooth out the tortured concrete while Gary stood in the doorway and shouted directions.

  “That’s it! Be careful, apprentices. The concrete flows like the currents of magic. It obeys its own laws, but with skill and patience you can guide it into the form you wish.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Tyler moaned. “He’s doing a Karate Kid.”

  “What’s a Karate Kid?” Hubert asked, as he dragged a straight plank across the surface of the concrete.

  Gary said, “It’s an ancient and legendary teaching technique, invented by a great magician called Miyagi.”

  “Did he teach you, Master?”

  “In a way he taught us all, Hubert. How’s progress on the seductorium?”

  “Work on your bedroom is going well, Master. We’ve completed the mirror-lined posing platform. We’ve moved on to pouring the floor.”

  “Very good. Apprentices, remember, as you swing your hammers, the motion is quite similar to the motion one uses when wielding a wand, so watch your form, and try not to bend the nails. It’s wasteful, and looks amateurish. And I’d better not catch anyone writing their names in the floor in there.”

  Jeff muttered, “Concrete floors in the bedroom. Doesn’t sound very seductive.”

  Gwen shook her head. “None of it does.”

  “The finished floors won’t be concrete,” Gary explained. “They’re just laying down a nice flat slab. Later, they’ll install the shag carpet.”

  Tyler absentmindedly stroked his chin. “I’ve always wondered, do they call it shag carpet because of how it looks, or because of what the owner hopes to do on it?”

  Gary smiled. “Can’t it be both?”

  “It can,” Gwen said. “Sadly.”

  The apprentices worked their way backward, down the hall, leaving a trail of perfectly flat concrete in their wake, until they finally disappeared back into the rooms in which they’d been working before.

  The wizards floated through the door to Gary’s ceremonial antechamber and lowered themselves to the floor.

  Tyler rounded on Gary. “You put them to work remodeling your house?”

  “Yeah,” Gary said. “They wanted to do something, so I gave them something to do.”

  “They’re expecting you to teach them magic.”

  “I’ll let them all expend some energy, then I’ll give them some sort of test to see if they have the gift, or something. They’ll all fail, and I’ll send them back out into the world.”

  “When?”

  “When they’ve finished the remodel. And the yard work I’m planning.”

  Jeff asked, “There isn’t a door to the outside from your bedroom, is there?”

  “No.”

  “Then how are your apprentices going to get out without ruining the concrete themselves?”

  Gary said, “I’ll just levitate them out. It’ll be a valuable lesson for them in the need to plan ahead.”

  “You just came up with that now, didn’t you?” Roy asked.

  “Yes. Which is a valuable lesson in the importance of being able to improvise.”

  “But why live in a home that was banged together by a bunch of amateurs when you can just make anything you want with magic?”

  “The things we make with magic are just copies of things that were probably mass-produced to begin with. Sure, things that were made by hand have flaws, but they also have character. They have soul.”

  “These aren’t craftsmen,” Roy said. “They’re untrained medieval peasants. The stuff they make will be nothing but flaws.”

  “So they’ll have that much more soul.”

  Gwen stared at Gary in obvious disbelief. “Wait a second. Since when do you care about this kind of thing?”

  “Since always,” Gary said. “There’s more to me than heavy metal and practical jokes.”

  “Yeah,” Tyler said. “There’s chasing women.”

  “Unsuccessfully,” Martin added.

  “And a love of handcrafted woodworking. You might have known if any of you had ever bothered to ask, or to even look around when you visit and think about what you see. Why did you think I had a book by George Nakashima on my shelf?”

  Gwen said, “I never noticed, because the bookcase was made of cinder blocks and plywood.”

  Martin said, “Okay, we’ve gotten off track here. We can discuss Gary’s remodel later, when it’s done and looks like crap. I called you all here because an apology is in order.”

  Gwen crossed her arms. “Yes?”

  “Yes,” Martin said.

  They all stood in silence for a moment.

  Gwen said, “We’re waiting.”

  “So am I, because you’re the ones who owe me the apology. I told you that Phillip was being attacked, and you didn’t believe me. You all acted like I was crazy. Well, I ask you, who’s crazy now?”

  Martin pulled out and flipped open the small silver box in which he carried his smartphone. He jabbed at the screen a few times, then pointed his staff at the far side of the stone ceremonial chamber.

  The future version of Phillip appeared, standing with slumped shoulders, his staff barely hanging from his fingers.

  Martin turned back to the group. “See!”

  Tyler said, “It’s Phillip. Hi, Phillip.”

  F
uture Phillip remained motionless, except for his right hand, which he slowly waved.

  Martin said, “No, it isn’t Phillip. I mean, well, obviously it is Phillip, but it isn’t really. Not our Phillip. This is Phillip from the future. Look how beat down and wrung out he looks. Our Phillip would never leave the house looking that pitiful.”

  Future Phillip glared at Martin.

  “I don’t know,” Roy said. “Maybe that’s just from listening to your blather.”

  Martin said, “I caught him red-handed. If I didn’t have him trapped, he’d escape right now. Show them how you’re trapped.”

  Future Phillip breathed out, deflating noticeably, then pressed his free hand against the invisible wall of his prison. He asked Martin if that was good enough, but no sound came out of his mouth.

  “Cool,” Gary gasped. “Like a mime.”

  Martin said, “Right? I’m also working on a defensive weapon that forces people to walk into a heavy wind.”

  Gwen stared at Martin. “You’ve tried to convince us that you’re not crazy by imprisoning your best friend.”

  “I can prove that this isn’t our Phillip. He stole Phillip’s Fiero and buried it under a haystack out behind Phillip’s office.”

  “Is that really proof?” Gary asked.

  Tyler mulled it over. “Well, I think we’d all agree that no sane man would steal a Fiero.”

  Future Phillip stopped glaring at Martin and started glaring at Tyler.

  “The real question,” Tyler continued, “is if Phillip’s Fiero is under this haystack, did Phillip do it? There’s no reason to believe you didn’t do it yourself, Martin. You seem intent on tormenting Phillip.”

  “I’m the one trying to help Phillip!”

  Tyler pointed at the captive Future Phillip, who threw up his hands as if to say, “I know, right?”

  Martin said, “He’s the one messing with Phillip, and he’s the one who took the Fiero. Go look. If you go back in time to six o’clock this morning, you can watch him do it.”

  Roy and Jeff disappeared, were gone for a little less than five seconds, then reappeared.

  “Martin’s telling the truth,” Jeff said. “We watched this Phillip steal the Fiero, drive it out, and bury it in hay.”

  All of the wizards turned and looked at Future Phillip.

  Gwen asked, “Okay, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  Future Phillip shrugged and leaned back on the wall of his invisible prison, reminding them that he couldn’t speak if he wanted to.

  Martin touched the end of his staff to the force field surrounding Future Phillip, and said, “Unmute.”

  Future Phillip said, “I expect you want me to thank you.”

  “We just want an explanation,” Gwen said.

  Future Phillip allowed himself to slide down the wall until he sagged in a seated position, like a wilted potted plant that hadn’t received enough water. “It pains me to no end to say this, but Martin is right. Everything he’s told you is more or less accurate, but what he’s left out is that I’ve been trying, despite Martin’s interference, to prevent a terrible catastrophe.”

  “What?” Jeff asked.

  Future Phillip said, “I can’t tell you.”

  “If you tell us we can help.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  Martin said, “So, think about it. He says he’s here to prevent a tragedy, but he won’t tell us what it is and won’t allow us to help. He seems to think it’s something only he can fix, and for the life of me, I can’t imagine what that would be or why he wouldn’t tell us. Logically, I think either he’s trying to prevent something that we wouldn’t consider a tragedy, or the thing he has to do to prevent this mysterious tragedy is something we wouldn’t approve of.”

  “Like what?” Gary asked.

  “I don’t know, and the Phillip of Tomorrow, today, here won’t tell us, will he?”

  Future Phillip shook his head.

  Martin said, “It was a waste giving you back the ability to speak.”

  21.

  Phillip materialized in the same alley in Atlantis from which he’d teleported, facing the same dead-end wall he’d faced when he left. Ten minutes had passed in Atlantis. For Phillip it had been hours, first spent listening to Jimmy lecture him and the two elder Brits about the file, then trying to talk Brit the Elder out of acting on what Jimmy had told them.

  Okay, Phillip, remember. It’s still morning here. I’ve been out for a brisk walk. I need to get Nik some salt, and then get home to spend the day with Brit the Younger. That’ll be good. Besides, after the day I’ve had, a quiet afternoon with the woman I love sounds great.

  Phillip spun around, took one step, then jumped straight up in the air and let out a frightened yelp. Brit the Younger stood, blocking the alley’s exit. Her mouth slowly spread into a big, toothy smile. The back of Phillip’s mind ruminated on the interesting fact that evolution has caused us to make an expression when we’re happy that’s similar to the face all mammals make when they’re about to bite something. The look in Brit’s eye left no doubt as to the intent behind this smile.

  It would have been frightening enough had she been alone, but standing behind her, just to the side, peering over her shoulder, there was another her, a second Brit the Younger, wearing the same clothes, her hair styled identically. The only difference was that the Brit in back had a notebook, a pen, and a video camera on a tripod pointed directly at Phillip, its record light glowing red.

  In a voice that sounded as if she already knew the answer and didn’t like it, the Brit in front asked, “Where have you been, Phillip?”

  “Why are there two of you?” Phillip asked.

  “Never mind that,” the Brit in front said. “It’s part of an experiment. She’s just here to observe.”

  The Brit in back scribbled down notes at a furious pace, with a furious look on her face.

  “What experiment?” Phillip asked.

  The front Brit said, “Don’t change the subject. Where were you, Phillip?”

  “I can’t—”

  “You can’t tell me,” the front Brit interrupted. “Why not? I already know, so really, you might as well tell me.”

  “You do? Then why ask?”

  “She doesn’t know yet.” The front Brit pointed over her shoulder with her thumb at the Brit in the rear, who took a moment away from her frantic note taking to scowl at Phillip. Behind her, Phillip saw that the sound of tense voices had caused a bit of a crowd to start gathering behind the two Brits.

  “I’d rather not—”

  “Discuss it here?”

  As the word here came out of her mouth, the front Brit started nodding slowly, her lips barely moving, as if she was counting to herself. Phillip started to step around her to his right, but she muttered “Five,” and stepped to block him before he’d barely lifted his foot from the ground. Not that it mattered. The sound of voices engaged in relationship drama had started to draw the inevitable crowd. Even if he’d been able to get past the Brits, a thick gaggle of onlookers blocked his escape.

  Phillip stepped back in shock. He saw that both Brits were now counting to themselves, but their rhythms were slightly off. The Brit in the rear noticed this, too, and looked at the back of front Brit’s head.

  Phillip tried to step around them to his left. As he shifted his weight, the Brit in the rear grunted “Eleven.” The Brit in front’s eyes grew wide, and she lurched to the side to block Phillip’s exit.

  The rear Brit said, “There’s that timing issue you mentioned.”

  “I was at ten. Even when I knew to look for it, my count was slow.”

  “Yeah. That’s definitely something we’ll need to address.”

  The rear Brit made a note, then both of them turned to glare at Phillip
as if even their timing problems were his fault.

  Phillip said, “We’re making—”

  The front Brit said, “A spectacle of ourselves, and you’d rather discuss this in private. Yeah, fine. Whatever. We’ve got everything we need.” She turned around, put a reassuring hand on the rear Brit’s shoulder, then disappeared.

  The rear and now only remaining Brit clicked her pen, tucked her notebook under her arm, and collapsed her tripod.

  Phillip said, “I’ll carry your tripod for you, if you like.”

  Brit said nothing. Every man in earshot cringed. Every woman who heard smirked knowingly.

  Brit picked up her own tripod and stepped to the side, motioning for Phillip to lead the way. The citizens parted, creating a narrow passage for Phillip to walk through. Brit followed. All eyes stared at Phillip, but nobody said a word to him. Behind him, he heard women whisper encouragement to Brit the Younger as she passed.

  He walked in silence to Brit’s front door, which he held open for her. She didn’t thank or even look at him as she entered. Phillip took one last glance across the street to verify that it was not his imagination—everybody was staring at him. He stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him.

  Brit stood in the middle of the room, her arms folded, glaring.

  Nik leaned into the room. “Oh, good, you’re both back. I see you caught up to him Br . . .” he trailed off as he saw Brit’s body language, fell silent, and also glared at Phillip.

  Phillip whined, “Oh, come on, Nik. You don’t even know what this is about!”

  Nik said nothing.

  Brit asked, “What is this about, Phillip?”

  “Nothing!”

  Brit stared at him.

  “Nothing bad.”

  Brit continued staring.

  Phillip started talking, stopped himself, tried again, stopped again, thought for a moment, said, “Okay, look . . .” and then fell silent.

  Brit said, “I asked you a question out there, and you said that you’d answer it if we weren’t in public.”